


Let Me Lay You Down

by an_aphorism



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Domestic, Hand Jobs, Healing, Love Confessions, M/M, Massage, Riding, Scars, Service Kink, Sexual Tension, Size Kink, Soft filth, Workaholism, but none of that nonsense we don't speak of, post-season 8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-25 19:50:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21361747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/an_aphorism/pseuds/an_aphorism
Summary: The war is won, but you wouldn’t know it from the way Shiro goes on. And Keith gets it, he knows that just because the Galra leadership is gone, it doesn’t mean everything is wrapped up in a nice tidy bow. He knows there’s all the after to wade through.But they’ve done their work. More than their share of work, and rest is important.If only Shiro would take a hint.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 48
Kudos: 646





	Let Me Lay You Down

**Author's Note:**

> The massage techniques mentioned within are entirely made up. I know nothing, this is just a flimsy premise.

The war is won, but you wouldn’t know it from the way Shiro goes on. And Keith gets it, he knows that just because the Galra leadership is gone, it doesn’t mean everything is wrapped up in a nice tidy bow. He knows there’s all the _after_ to wade through. The peace talks, the treaties, the humanitarian care. There’s a whole galaxy still reeling. Still rebuilding.

But they’ve done their work. More than their share of work, and rest is important.

If only Shiro would take a hint.

Keith should have known he wouldn’t, he should have seen this coming. Shiro’s been reaching for the impossible as long as he’s known him, so of course he won’t stop now. Maybe even can’t.

Keith catches him a month in for a lunch and tries to broach it, but Shiro waves him off with a smile. He’s happy with the work, glad to still be of assistance. He has his life and, sans the flesh arm, a completely healthy body. but it’s not his body that Keith’s concerned about.

Or not _only. _

Two weeks later Shiro’s listens to him as they walk in step toward his office.

“Yeah,” Shiro says when Keith’s finished his prepared words. “I’m glad the Paladins are talking to a professional, a lot happened. But I’m okay right now,” Shiro’s smile is too bright for how tired the rest of his face is. There’s dark bags under his eyes, his hair is a little too many days out from a wash. “I’ll keep that in mind if I ever need a therapist, thanks Keith!”

Then he’s tuning Keith out, datapad in hand as he returns to the work.

It incites something in Keith.

##

Next Keith decides to target the people demanding Shiro’s time. Keith figures if he can just scare them off, then Shiro will be forced to take a break. Shiro can’t work if there isn’t any work to do.

And it works pretty well to start. Keith prowls down Garrison halls, picking out the repeat offenders and giving them stern words and sterner looks. Most practically fumble over themselves to apologize and promise they won’t ask Shiro for anything more.

Keith thinks it a success until three days later when Shiro storms into a Blades meeting and yanks Keith out into the hall. The man is frowning.

“Did you tell Wann not to ask me for help?”

Keith blinks and blinks and then curses Wann in his head. He didn’t think the man would go and rat him out, certainly not this quick.

The silence gathers and is more than enough answer.

“And Zxh? GHC Rebuild?”

Keith sets his own expression to match, the anger bristling. “They ask for _so much,”_ he definitely doesn’t whine. “I just thought someone should tell them to back off.”

He crosses his arms, looking away.

The sigh that comes then is one of Shiro’s _disappointed _ones. It’s way worse than if Shiro had just shouted at him. “Keith, I appreciate the thought, but I can fight my own battles, and in this case I certainly don’t even have a battle. I’m happy to help them, I’m lucky to be able to help.”

“But—“

“If you trust me, if you respect me, you’ll let me make my own choices with work.”

Shiro’s got him in a box now, and Keith has no other option but to fold. He trusts and respects Shiro above every other human or being in the universe—

He just wishes he could find a way to get him to _relax. _

Shiro reaches up and squeezes his shoulder. “Thank you for your concern,” Shiro says, a small smile finally returning to his mouth, “but I’m okay, really.”

It’s not that he doesn’t believe Shiro, because he does. He believes that Shiro believes he is fine and not overworking himself.

But Keith also knows how far skewed Shiro’s sense of honor and hard work is. He knows the man hasn’t relaxed since Kerberos, and likely Shiro no longer even has a good gauge of what that is.

##

A week later, seeing Shiro stagger into the cafeteria and pour himself an oversized coffee, Keith figures he needs a much sneakier plan. Something that Shiro won’t protest to, something he won’t even see coming…

Maybe, something that looks like work at first but isn’t.

Keith gets to plotting.

##

As busy as he is, Shiro never turns down a call from him. Keith uses it to his advantage now as the first phase of the plan.

He’s at the old shack and has been slowly fixing it up so he can move out of the Garrison dorms. Unlike Shiro, Keith understands the need for distance, for some time and space to relax.

He’s just finished the new roofing now, but he steps into the shade and dials Shiro.

“Hey, what’s up?” Shiro says when he answers.

Keith wipes his brow and squints at the screen. “Hey, are you busy?”

“Yeah, but what’s up?” Then Shiro gets a good look at the sunny backdrop, “Where are you?”

“At the shack. I could use some help with the roof and I thought… maybe if you were free…”

If it weren’t so dire maybe Keith would feel bad about the lie, but this is literally for Shiro’s benefit. He casts his eyes down, does his best to look demure and exhausted on the screen. It’s not terribly hard after the long afternoon on the roof.

“But if you’re busy—“ Keith sighs.

“Oh! Uh,” On the screen Shiro’s eyes flicker away and then back. Keith can practically _see_ him waiver. “No I can, just let me move some stuff. I can be out in twenty?”

Keith beams. “Shiro that would be so great!” That’s probably laying it on a little thick, but it’s worth it to see Shiro steady, to see his eyes alight with the pleasure of helping a friend.

They disconnect and then Keith heads in for a shower so he’ll be ready for when Shiro arrives.

##

Keith’s still toweling off his hair when Shiro knocks.

“Hey,” Keith says holding the door open with one hand. Shiro gives his dripping hair a fond look. “So I actually just finished the roofing,” Keith says as he leads Shiro into the kitchen. “But there’s a couple other things I could use help with if that’s okay?”

Shiro doesn’t even pause. “Of course, I’m already here.”

For the afternoon Keith has them hang the bedroom shelves and rearrange the furniture. Most of it he waves Shiro off, requesting that Shiro stand back and give him an objective opinion about the arrangement of the space. It’s not really work, but Keith’s got his best _I don’t know what I’m doing _face on, so Shiro seemingly doesn’t mind. It’s still helping.

“Phew!” Keith says as he moves the dresser into place. “I’m starved, will you stay for dinner? It’s the least I could do for the help.”

It’s then that he sees Shiro’s eye flicker away. He sees the man think about the other work. A free meal is too close to enjoying himself.

“Plus,” Keith casts his voice lower. “Mom's coming in a few months, so you could tell me if the cooking’s good. I want to impress her.”

Keith may be playing up his neediness, but that part isn’t a lie. His mom is coming and he’s been trying to get some recipes he’s at least halfway okay with for when she’s here.

When he looks up Shiro’s eyes are back on him, he nods. “Yeah, of course Keith, though I’m sure it’ll be good. You’re great at everything you put your mind to.”

Keith snorts to cover the blush and turns away. “Thanks,” and then just to be certain he won’t lose Shiro. “Mind cutting some vegetables for me?”

They work together to make dinner, though Keith gives Shiro the simplest of tasks. It’s nice, sort of intimate. Sunlight colors are beginning to filter in through the front windows, casting Shiro in soft gold as he drains the pasta.

By the time they’re setting the table Keith can see the change in him. The way Shiro’s shoulders have settled down, the pinched look to his face has gone.

Playfully he pulls out Shiro’s chair and makes the man sit while he finishes plating dinner. It’s not a surprise what they’re having because Shiro’s been with him the whole time, but Keith can’t help himself when he presents the plate.

“Ta-da!”

Shiro laughs and it fills Keith’s chest. He feels proud, and it doesn’t have anything to do with the meal.

“This looks great Keith.”

Keith takes his own plate and settles in across from Shiro. “Hope it tastes good too.”

It does.

##

Following this Keith lures Shiro into a training that’s more of a fun sparring session, a walk through the park having ‘lost’ Kosmo, and a lunch in town after a ‘stressful’ meeting Keith had that he needed to talk through with a friend.

It’s progress, but not enough for Keith. Doing anything at the Garrison means Keith has to fight twice as hard to keep Shiro’s attention, and he man is much more likely to dip the second the request is completed and go back to work.

So Keith starts to focus only on the shack, on how to get Shiro there.

Keith’s place is coming along nicely for the renovation, but he doesn’t hesitate to shove a fork in his drain two weeks later when he sees Shiro looking particularly haggard at lunch. He calls that evening after a workout so he sounds breathy and frustrated on the call.

“Uh," Shiro says.

“If you’re too busy,” Keith pushes a wrench off the counter so it clatters loudly. “I’m sure I can just… manage.”

There’s a moment where maybe Shiro is thinking about it. Keith lets out a heavy sigh.

“No, no. It’s fine. These can wait. Be over soon.”

It can wait, Keith smiles as he thanks Shiro and hangs up. The work can always wait, that’s the point.

Keith leaves the tools scattered all over the counter and turns to start dinner. If he plays it right, he should be able to monopolize Shiro’s entire evening.

##

When Shiro arrives, dinner is just about ready so he ushers the man to the table, promising they’ll deal with the sink after. Shiro must be just as tired and hungry, because he goes with little fuss.

“You don’t have to feed me every time, my help is free,” Shiro says when the plate is put before him.

“I know,” Keith smiles. “But it’s kinda nice. What’s the use of winning the war if I can’t take a minute to enjoy some domesticity?”

Of one mind, they both cast a look around the shack. It’s looking more and more like a proper home every day. Keith can’t wait for his Mom to see it.

“You’ve really done wonderful work on it.”

“With your help,” Keith adds. Shiro would argue, but Keith sends him a stern look as he picks up his fork. Shiro follows his lead.

After dinner they attend to the sink. It’s a quick job, but it stalls the moment Shiro reaches up to take a wrench off Keith’s hands.

The man makes a sharp, aborted sound and drops his hand.

“Shiro? You okay?” Keith was peering down the sink from the top, but now he bends down to get a look at Shiro beneath the counter.

“Fine,” Shiro grits out, moving his arm in a small circle to work it out. “Just pinched a nerve or something moving crates this week.”

Keith frowns. Suddenly even the tiny task of ‘fixing’ the sink seems in poor taste. “C’mon, up!”

Without waiting, Keith leans down and gets a hand up under Shiro’s uninjured shoulder and lifts.

“Hey, wait!”

“Nope,” Keith guides them around the kitchen and into the living room. The sun is gone, but the low lighting makes the room cozy.

“Keith, it’s fine,” the way that he says it makes Keith think of Shiro’s to-do list, of its ever present threat. Of how fine he always says he is even as he runs himself ragged.

“It’s really not. You’re working too hard.”

This is well trodden ground now so Shiro sighs. “It’s important.”

“So are you,” Keith says. Kindly but with purpose, Keith gets Shiro sat sideways on the couch. “Where does it hurt?”

Shiro can’t lift that arm, so he uses the other to gesture. “Really though it’s fine, your sink—“

“Will be perfectly fine unattended for the moment,” Keith snaps. He kneels then behind Shiro and puts his hands to the offended area.

Time on the space whale had been trying, but it had given him time to bond with his mother, time to learn some of the interpersonal skills that he’d missed growing up orphaned. She’s taught him just how to work through the muscles after a sparring session, how to realign a spine and catch problems before they got larger. Keith's certainly not a pro, has only ever done this on his mother, but he figures it’s good enough for this. Good enough for a minor strain.

He does so now, mapping out Shiro’s shoulder and upper back with his hands. It’s not the easiest through the loose fabric of his shirt, but Keith still manages to find where the problem is.

There’s a definite misalignment on the side without the prosthetic. As though Shiro is overcompensating and holding too tight.

“Yeah, definitely an issue,” Keith comments, sliding his palms down and back up to illustrate. “Why’re you pulling on this side?”

“What?”

“Here,” Keith highlights the muscle with his fingers. “You’re pulling against your arm.”

Shiro shrugs and then makes a sound of pain again. “Uh, I don’t know. I guess I didn’t notice.”

Keith hums to himself, pushing Shiro’s spine to sit him up straight. “Well I can reset it, but if you keep holding yourself off center you’ll get this again. So watch for that.”

Shiro opens his mouth, maybe to protest or defend himself, but Keith takes the opportunity. He follows the muscle back down and then pushes with one hand as he tugs Shiro’s shoulder with the other.

Shiro gasps, and there’s several cracks as everything slides back into alignment. The man promptly collapses then back into Keith’s arms with a happy sigh.

“Fuck,” Shiro says. His head lolls back onto Keith’s shoulder. “Where did you learn that?”

“Mom,” Keith can feel his face heat from the contact. Shiro makes pleasant little noises, his eyes closed. Keith looks him over, finding him for once relaxed and content. He wishes he could bottle it up and keep it forever. Shiro deserves this, always this.

“It’s like you don’t even really realize how much pain there was until it’s gone.”

As if that isn’t the most Shiro statement of all time. Keith feels his heart squeeze. He cards his hand through Shiro’s undercut, it’s getting a little too long.

“Come anytime,” Keith says softly. It’s almost complete dark now, and without the living room lights Shiro's painted in a dark blue hue. “I’ll fix you right up.”

“You always do,” Shiro says. He smiles and then opens his eyes to blink up at Keith.

There’s a moment then, something soft and fluttery in the dark. Shiro is looking at him with openness, with something Keith doesn’t have a name for. It's enough to make his breath catch.

But then Shiro pulls away and sits up. He suggests they try the sink again.

Keith almost sighs at the whoosh of disappointment that falls through him.

##

The next house project requires a laser-cutter, which Keith does not have, but the Garrison does. He wastes no time texting Shiro to ask if he can bring it to the shack.

Keith tries to make it sound more dire than it is, but Shiro isn’t moved. Instead, Shiro promises to bring it by after dinner. It's not exactly a win, but it is better than nothing. Better to know at least tonight Shiro won’t be at his work well into the night.

Keith spends the day catching up on emails. When he makes dinner that evening he makes enough for a second serving in case Shiro shows up hungry. The odds aren't good that Shiro will let Keith feed him, but he plans anyway to try.

It’s as Keith’s in the bathroom finally getting around to trimming his split ends that Shiro knocks on his door.

“Come in!” He shouts out into the hallway. There’s hair clippings on the floor and he really doesn’t want to track them.

Shiro comes in and puts down what Keith assumes is the laser cutter. Then there’s the sound of his footsteps toward the bathroom.

“Decent?” Shiro asks.

Keith pulls the bathroom door open. “Yeah, just caught me mid trim.”

“Oh,” Keith can see his eyes in the mirror roving over Keith to take in the scene. “I liked your long hair.”

Keith pretends that doesn’t fluster him, moving the scissors back to the ends. “Not cutting length, just the split ends.”

“Oh,” Shiro says again. Then, “good.”

There’s an awkward moment then as Keith does his best to focus on the job at hand. He has just his bangs left, and they do need a little length off so they’re not in his eyes.

But Shiro smiles and Keith catches it in the mirror. He’s reminded then of Shiro’s own hair, overgrown because Shiro doesn’t have time for self care. He frowns.

“I could do yours, when I’m finished,” Keith blurts out.

Their eyes meet in the mirror and then Keith can see Shiro look at himself. A hand comes up to run through the too-long sides.

“I guess I could use a trim.”

Keith snorts and snips easily at his own bangs. “Did you just notice?”

The man raises his arm as if to shove Keith, but then pauses as Keith cuts the last of his bangs. Keith puts the instrument down and shakes out his hair, fingering his bangs to lay the way he wants. “Okay, all done, hows it look?”

Shiro does reach then to touch the ends of his hair, it’s just longer than his shoulders. “Looks good,” Shiro says softly.

It’s too close, too _something. _Keith steps back to get himself some air. “Great,” he says, turning to rifle through the cabinet under the sink. “Now you.”

They shuffle around to switch places in the small bathroom. Keith then has Shiro sit on the toilet seat to make the whole thing easier.

“Don’t buzz me bald,” Shiro comments as Keith turns the clippers on.

Keith rolls his eyes, tilting Shiro’s head to get first at the left side. “Even if I did you’d still look… _well.”_

He’d still look like a six foot four thirst trap with a sun-bright smile.

“Hm?”

“Nothing,” Keith says and lowers the buzzer. “Hold still.”

Keith’s done enough buzzing of Kosmo in the summer to know his way around electric clippers, and he knows exactly what Shiro’s hair should look like. It’s easy then to slide it against his head, buzzing slowly around his ears and then to the back of his head.

Shiro’s soft under his hands, letting himself be moved and turned as Keith works. It’s not delicate work, and it’s hard to mess up with the electric clippers, but Keith still attends to it as if it was much more serious. Every moment seated here in Keith’s bathroom is a moment that Shiro isn’t working himself to the bone. A moment that maybe he’s even enjoying.

He works through Shiro’s hair carefully, allowing his hands to slide down his neck, lightly massage his scalp as he works. He can’t hear beyond the buzz, but by the time he gets to the other side Shiro has closed his eyes.

Keith takes even more time then. He cuts and shakes off the shorn hair, moving slowly around the man’s other ear, fading the buzz down on the sides. There’s a brief switching of blade length and then Keith goes ahead and does the top without asking. It’s not noticeably long, but if he has Shiro here he might as well.

He cuts it longer than the sides, but works around to blend it in. With his free hand he shifts through the longer hair in the guise of shaking it out. Shiro doesn’t protest.

When that’s finished he adjusts the blade length again to its shortest setting and then does the back of Shiro’s neck, shaping the cut and buzzing stray hairs. He does the same for around each ear so the lines are crisp and perfect.

He turns the buzzer off and sets it down. “Look at me,” Keith says as he stands in front of Shiro.

The man blinks his eyes open as if in a daze. Keith quickly averts his own and looks over the cut. He slides his hands over the sides to brush through any loose hair, and then fluffs the top this way and that to check for any missed hairs.

Keith can feel Shiro’s eyes burning into him. “Okay, I think it’s good,” Keith says with one last pass of his hands. He’s sorry to take them away, but it’s bordering on obsessive, and Shiro’s likely to make a comment any moment. “Take a look?”

Keith steps back and Shiro gets up, shaking the hair from his shirt.

“Sorry, I don’t have a cloak, should have used a towel.”

“No worries,” Shiro says, pulling his shirt up over his head.

That much muscle and skin suddenly on display has Keith quickly backing out of the room. “I’ll get the broom, just shake it out on the floor,” he mutters before fleeing.

Purposefully he takes his time and by the time he comes back with the broom Shiro is redressed and looking at himself in the mirror.

“It looks great Keith, thanks!”

That sunshine smile is on full display, and Keith can do nothing but nod at it. His fingers are still buzzing where he holds tight to the broom handle, but he’s no longer sure it’s from the clippers.

For some reason it never occurred to Keith that tending to Shiro might be a minefield for him. But as Shiro turns this way and that in the mirror, overly pleased about something so simple, Keith’s heart beats hard in his chest.

Fuck.

##

It’s not so much a slippery slope after that, but a fumbling. Every little thing has Keith pulling up Shiro’s number to ask for assistance.

He asks Shiro over to give Kosmo a bath, to help him get straight lines on a portrait wall, to move the new mattress up to the newly finished second floor.

When there’s no project on, Keith doesn’t even hesitate to break something in his house. Shiro’s come to start teasing him about his accident prone self, but Keith accepts this gracefully. It’s easy to when it’s _working_.

Because Keith always has a meal or sweet ready. His couch has seen more than a couple evenings of them lounging and chatting. And with the few limited tasks Shiro’s done for him, Keith’s had plenty of excuses to massage and adjust him.

It’s good. Really good. Shiro looks more rested and healthy than he has in _ages. _It's not what he could be, but Keith feels bolstered that's it's still something. 

And he’s not above admitting that he’s really enjoying himself. He’d initially thought the undertaking could end up wearing him out too, but Keith finds the opposite to be true. Taking care of Shiro is a reward all to itself, one that just fills Keith up with warmth and pleasure.

Which is probably why he can’t control how he continues to escalate it. How some of his requests for help are becoming wafer thin and completely ridiculous. It would be embarrassing, except Shiro has yet to call him on it. Every time Keith rings him, Shiro comes with a smile and lets Keith feed and direct and take care of him. In the last two weeks alone Shiro has even stopped pulling out and looking at his datapad while at Keith’s. There’s no other way for Keith to interpret that but _promising._

Today they've spent the evening in the back patio stringing lighting before Keith had excused himself to start making them a Galran pasta dish for dinner. He'd left Shiro with an easy enough task, but still he frowns when the man comes in rubbing at his shoulder. That simply won't do.

Keith’s been meaning to get Shiro for a proper session, to really massage his muscles out, do a few more alignments that he thinks will really make a difference. With the new mattress in his room Keith also finally has a surface big enough to lay Shiro out. The idea is a promising spark against his displeasure of Shiro's clear pain.

They eat and then Keith tugs Shiro up out of his seat, declaring him due for a massage.

“Keith you don’t have to,” Shiro says even as he follows Keith into the bedroom.

“Oh hush, I saw you stretching your shoulder earlier, I’m sure hanging those lights messed you up again.”

“It’s fine,” Shiro says, but he’s looking at the bed with interest. It's clear he's curious about what Keith can do with a better surface to work on, he's just so stubborn. Too stubborn. It’s like he’s incapable of letting himself have something nice unless he protests first.

But that’s fine with Keith, Keith has no problem pushing Shiro to relax.

“Yeah, yeah,” already Keith’s moving toward the bedside table. He bought some massage oil a week ago just in case such an opportunity arose. “Now take off your shirt and lie down.”

This does startle Shiro. “My shirt?”

Keith lifts the oil up, tries to play it casual. “I haven’t done a full session in a minute and I don’t want to get rusty. You’ll be a guinea pig.” Keith’s well practiced by now in framing everything as a favor that Shiro is doing _him. _

“Oh, uh. Okay.”

“Unless that makes you uncomfortable?” Keith looks him straight on now. He’s willing to push Shiro if Shiro wants to be pushed, but not any further.

“No, no it’s fine.” Shiro rubs the back of his neck, sort of bashful. “Uh, just I should warn you I have… a lot of scars. Uh.”

Keith frowns, but his fallback has always been action. He turns to show Shiro his own back, lifting up the shirt. Keith makes it a point to avoid looking at his scarring, he doesn’t want to attach any sort of _meaning _to them, but he knows they’re numerous. “Same. My mother too. It doesn’t bother me.”

“_Keith,” _Shiro gasps his name, moving closer to touch, before he stops himself.

“Don’t.” Keith snaps, a little too quickly. “I don’t have any feelings about them, and I don’t want to. They exist, that’s it.”

When he meets Shiro’s eyes again the man doesn’t look like he quite believes him, but his shoulders relax. “Okay,” he says. Then he nods to himself, something more decided overcoming his expression. “Okay.”

Shiro lifts his shirt and pulls it off, then moves quickly to lie down on the bed.

Keith frowns. Something’s shifted in that exchange and he doesn’t know what. This was supposed to be just… relaxing for Shiro, but now it feels heavy. Important. Like it's more than just a massage. 

Still, Keith’s never met a cliff edge he didn't want to try. “Okay,” he says.

He climbs up on top of Shiro, seating himself on Shiro’s ass. He keeps his mind pointedly on the task ahead. This is just like all the other times. Helpful, friendly. Except—

Except he knows immediately that it isn’t. Keith’s felt the scars through Shiro’s shirt before, but vaguely. Seeing them is… different.

The man wasn’t lying, he has a _lot. _More than Keith. Way more. 

Keith grabs the oil and opens it to pour some into his palms. Even as shocking as Shiro’s scars are, this is no time to falter. Shiro needs him to be stable. Calming. The dangerous and painful thing that’s twisted up in Keith’s belly at seeing Shiro's scars will need to be dealt with, but that’s later. Once he’s taken care of Shiro.

Keith never wants pity, and surely Shiro feels the same. Their scars are just fact, and if anyone were to attach meaning, they’re signs of survival. Of overcoming. Of _life. _Keith holds that tightly to his chest as he puts his hands down on Shiro’s back. Some parts of him wish he could truly turn back the clock and take Shiro’s pain away, but then he thinks— at what cost?

Shiro’s got scars and a prosthetic arm, but the Galra gave him his _life. _They gave him years and years he never would have had with his prior disease. Selfishly, the Galra gave Keith all the decades ahead with Shiro.

So at the end of it all, Keith wouldn’t change where they ended up. He’s here and Shiro’s here, and that's enough. It’s not perfect, but nothing is. Shiro's more beautiful for how he has survived, how he has conquered impossible odds.

Keith runs his hands up and down Shiro’s back, spreading the oil with care. Beneath his palms he can feel the ridges of the scars, the hard knots where Shiro’s muscles are pulling. He may not be able to remove Shiro's scars, but he can do this.

It’s the knots Keith works on first. He kneads and massages them down, working through everything he remembers. His mother was a relatively loose and limber person to work on, so some of the knowledge Keith only knows from having it done on him.

It seems to work though. Shiro sighs pleasantly into the sheets as the knots come loose one by one. Keith watches his half-turned face as he works.

Shiro’s eyes are closed, expression lax, and mouth just ever so slightly open. He’s stunning to look at, an interesting contrast between the hard lines of his profile and the delicate restfulness.

This close Keith can see his eyelashes aren’t gray, but speckled. White and black and so strange. He can likewise see a few strands of white in his brows. If his hands weren’t so busy and oiled, Keith thinks he would have reached up and touched. He’s never see anything like it.

But even before Kerberos Keith had never seen anyone like Shiro.

He pulls his attention back to the task, leaning up to start adjustments on Shiro’s shoulders.

It’s so different like this. Keith has measured Shiro’s shoulders with his hands before, done these same adjustments, but now, skin to skin it’s…

Shiro is just so _wide. _Huge really. Keith has long fingers but even they pale against the breadth of him. The thought hits Keith stupidly, and he feels his own cheeks flush.

It’s not new to him the way he feels about Shiro, but he usually has a better wrap on it. His interest in helping Shiro, even in this, comes from a platonic place, and he doesn’t want to misconstrue that. It’s important to Keith that, no matter how his own fluttery, stupid feelings grow, he does right by Shiro.

So he shoves those thoughts away and works with the practical parts. He pulls and pushes and levers against Shiro, cracking first neck, then shoulders, then spine into alignment. Beneath him Shiro makes gorgeous, gasping sounds at each crack that Keith pretends he can’t hear.

But the heat is near overwhelming and it opens the door for bad thoughts. Thoughts that are so closely related to this situation. Thoughts like Shiro, shirtless in his bed, moaning and—

Keith pulls his hands back and takes a deep, steadying breath. They’re almost finished, he needs to hold it together.

Shiro makes a lazy sound of inquiry.

Keith gets up from his seat. “Just need to check.”

He moves down the bed and checks Shiro’s feet for how aligned his left and right side are. There’s still a slight shortage on the side with the arm.

“Okay, sit up.”

This is well trodden ground, so Shiro heaves himself up to a seated position. Keith shuffles up to sit behind him. It’s not different, it’s not—

“The arm?” Shiro asks, offering it across his body for the twist.

“Yeah,” Keith’s voice is too breathy, too strangled by the nearness and heat of Shiro.

Fuck, why is a simple location change doing this to him?

He curls his arms around Shiro from behind to hold both the hand of the prosthetic and push the shoulder. It’s tricky with a prosthetic, because pulling on it won’t get the crack he wants, but over time they’ve mastered a work around. Mostly it involves Keith nearly spooning him and twisting Shiro’s shoulder using his own body force.

He does so now, quickly to get it over with before his own inappropriate thoughts drown him.

But the motion is done too quickly and Shiro just grunts in pain, there’s no release.

“Sorry.” Keith's face is almost pressed to Shiro’s shoulder as he twists back and resets to do it correctly.

“It-it’s fine.” Shiro says. His voice is strange.

“Did I hurt you?” Keith goes to unwind, to move around and see Shiro’s face proper, by the man clasps his hands tightly and holds Keith behind him.

“No, no. It’s fine! Just do the adjustment.”

“Are you sure? I could really damage you if—“

“I’m good, really!”

Shiro’s being cagey, but Keith doesn’t want to fight him on it, especially not in the middle of this. He needs to finish and get away from whatever this is. “Okay,” he says, deciding to go forward, but with heightened awareness in case Shiro is covering his pain. “But let me know if there’s any pain.”

Shiro hums.

They settle again. Shiro releases his hold and Keith gets back into proper position. He ignores the heat and masculine smell of Shiro in his arms, and twists him slowly, but with force.

His back cracks perfectly then. Shiro makes another of those delicious sounds and practically collapses in his arms.

Keith can’t help but smile. “Good?”

Shiro’s head tips back onto Keith’s shoulder. “I think that one's my favorite.”

Keith chuckles. “That’s because it’s last. It’s like the last piece falling into place.”

“And _fuck_ is it good.”

The curse sends a shiver down Keith’s spine. Shiro so rarely curses. “I’m glad.”

They part then for the last bit and Keith hates how he feels wanting suddenly. The warm, large presence of Shiro is gone from his arms and he _misses it_ immediately.

Shiro lays back down and Keith retakes his position sitting on Shiro’s ass. Shiro stretches out on the sheets doing a pleasant little shuffle. Keith smiles.

“Good?”

“So good,” Shiro’s head turns to look at Keith with one eye. He looks lazy and satisfied, like he would after a good romp.

_Fuck_. Bad thought.

Keith takes a deep breath and puts his hands back on Shiro. The oil is almost all gone now, and he doesn’t bother to add more. It’s perfect, this. Shiro is lax beneath his hands, and even running over the mass of scars his skin is so smooth and warm.

The sounds that come from him are louder now, clear pleasure noises he can’t seem to hold in as Keith gives him a general massage. Keith tries hard not to listen to them, but his barriers are so low, he doesn’t have any defenses left. Whatever it is between them is pulled tight, and it burns Keith where they’re touching. He wishes he could make Shiro always feel this good. He wishes this could just go on forever.

He presses his palms down on either side of Shiro’s spine and then slide then sideways toward his belly.

Shiro shivers. His hips move.

It feels suddenly dangerous. Daring.

Keith should finish then, should get up and make an excuse to leave the room. He should run far, far away from the gravity of this man.

But…

“Keith,” Shiro says it like a prayer.

Keith returns his hands to Shiro’s spine and repeats the action, this time sliding his hands down just enough that his fingers curl around to Shiro’s stomach.

The shiver is larger then, and Shiro cries his name. His hips rise and fall as if willing to give Keith more access.

Does he dare? He can't, he shouldn't.

But his hands don't listen. They reset and then-

The third time's the charm. Shiro shifts just as Keith’s hands dip beneath him, and Keith is suddenly touching the divots of Shiro’s hips, the v-line of his stomach.

Shiro downright _moans_ against the sheets.

It’s a sound Keith will never forget. It gets up under his breastbone and sits, burning a hole in his chest. He made Shiro moan.

_Holy fucking shit._

Finally, finally, his hands go to pull back then, but Shiro collapses to pin them there on his lower belly. Shiro’s still wearing jeans but they’re both way over the line. It's madness, an impossible thing. Shiro can't want—

“Keith— ah,” Shiro’s hips move again, but against the bed like a grind.

Keith tries to swallow but his throat is dry, his heart is pounding. The arousal is flooding him now and he _wants. _Fuck, how he wants.

He grasps at Shiro’s hips, letting just the tips of his nails press in. When Shiro moves again, the thrust of his body gets Keith’s fingertips slipping just a little into the band of his jeans. His skin there is molten hot. Keith’s aware then that he's hard. The possibilities that bloom then are dizzying.

“Shiro,” His voice sounds just as throaty as Shiro’s. The man beneath him gives a wanting sound.

It lights Keith up, makes him bold enough to tuck his fingers in a little more. To scrape them against the skin of his abdomen. They slowly, slowly, move further in until Keith touches the trail of thick hair that leads down. He pets at it idly, his own body now arched over Shiro for leverage.

Shiro pants, but doesn’t move, doesn’t indicate that Keith should stop.

Keith leans down further to get his mouth near the back of Shiro’s neck. Shiro’s eyes are closed now, but he looks good enough to eat.

“Is there something else I can do for you?” Keith whispers this, fingers moving just ever so slightly down.

There’s another curse and then, “_please!”_

The tension snaps clean. Keith pulls back to get up just as Shiro flips over and grabs him. They meet in the middle with clumsy, off-center kiss before Keith gets hold of Shiro and moves him just right. Then it’s…

Perfect. Unexplainable. He’s kissing Shiro like he’s dying. Like they’re both dying. Like they should have done years and years ago. Shiro tastes like their dinner and it does something to Keith to know that he did that. That he fed Shiro. That he took care of Shiro. That Shiro keeps letting him.

Keith kisses him deep, sliding his tongue into Shiro’s mouth for more, already addicted to the taste. His heart is bursting in his chest and he never wants it to end.

But behind the kissing is a deeper pull. Keith’s nearly on top of Shiro now, and as Shiro’s hands settle on his waist he can feel they’re both hard.

It comes together for him now. How Shiro’s been careful never to turn over during massages. How he's always laid in the position long after and claimed to enjoy a rest afterwards. He’d even been weird earlier when Keith had sat him up. It's all repainted in a new light now. 

The idea that Shiro's been aroused by their sessions is overwhelming. Keith grinds down against Shiro, nipping at the man's lips, he feels a little out of control.

“Keith, _fuck_, you’re driving me crazy.”

Keith almost laughs at that. The idea that Shiro could even feel a fraction of what Keith feels is so wild he can barely understand it. Have they both been foolishly circling such obvious chemistry this entire time? Fuck.

Because it is chemistry. A fuck ton of it. They're near suffocating as they kiss, but neither of them budges an inch. Keith's distantly aware there should be so much more talking, but he also isn't surprised that there isn't. It doesn't really feel like there needs to be right now. Just like their time in battle or in Voltron, they just work. Seamlessly. 

Keith’s definitely leading the kisses, but Shiro is no slouch. He holds Keith tight in return and kisses with everything he has. His lips are soft and warm and the way he kisses Keith has him tingling all over.

But Keith wants _more. _

“Shiro,” He pulls away enough just to get air for the word. Shiro kisses him again, licks at his cupids bow with a please sound. “Sh-r,” Keith mumbles happily against the man’s mouth.

“Hm?”

His eyes blink open and Keith can see he looks dazed. He wonders if his own face reflects it. He hopes so. “I want—" To illustrate he moves his own hips and grinds them together. Shiro makes a caught sound and grasps harder at his hips.

“Yeah,” Shiro breathes, kissing the corner of his mouth, his cheek. “Anything, everything. Keith I—”

Keith catches his mouth to silence the rest of the words. He know what they are, and it’s too much all at once. There will be time for that later. After.

“Me too,” Keith says when he pulls back. He looks at Shiro straight on, taking in his hazy eyes and pinkened cheeks. Stars, he’s a sight. Keith rubs his thumb across Shiro’s cheek. “But first, will you let me take care of you?”

Of course, Shiro gets it immediately. He gives Keith a wobbly, smile, but keeps the rest of it in. “Yeah,” he says.

Keith’s never loved him more.

A lot of undressing follows, mostly done by Keith as he slaps away Shiro’s hands as he tries to help. “You _just_ agreed!” He chides.

But old habits die hard, and Shiro can’t seem to help himself. It’s just as he’s wrapping his hand around Keith’s cock that Keith decides he’s had enough. It’s agony to remove Shiro’s hand, but he knows it’ll be worth it in the end. Keith’s gotten a brilliant idea about what's next, and he’s committed to seeing it fulfilled.

Keith pushes Shiro back to lying on the bed, but this time he's completely stripped. He’s seen bits of Shiro from living in such close quarters for so long, but nothing compares to this. This is a context where he can touch all those gorgeous muscles, can stroke his hand up and down that thick, leaking cock.

Which is, of course, the first order of business.

“Hands above your head,” Keith orders as he gets back in range. Shiro looks at him curiously, but follows the instructions. “Good,” Keith says and seats himself on Shiro’s thighs, “now keep them there.”

At the first touch Shiro curses and Keith has to take a deep breath. Shiro in his hand is… huge. Hot. Keith strokes him root to tip and catches the wetness there, he rubs it across the reddened cockhead until it’s glossy. Above, Shiro grabs at the bedding and makes a pleading sound.

“Just let me,” Keith says soft, eyes stuck on Shiro’s cock as he slides his fist down and back up again. It’s such a vision. Such a good feeling in his hand, heavy and warm and right.

Keith takes his time with it, stroking Shiro firm but slowly. Keith drinks in the sight of him, writhing and pleading against the sheets, but still listening so well with his hands above his head. He’s everything and Keith just wants to treat him, to make this the best it can be.

Eventually it becomes clear he’s nearing Shiro’s limit. Shiro's cockhead is almost purple, and the leaking is near constant. He can't seem to stop babbling. Most of what Shiro says are fragment’s of Keith’s name, but once in a while he urges Keith for more, begs him to make him come.

It’s a power trip that Keith’s quickly becoming addicted to.

Keeping one hand on him, Keith reaches over the grabs the massage oil. Shiro’s eyes are closed, but he peeks at the sound of the cap clicking shut.

“What?”

“Shh,” Keith rubs just beneath his cockhead, at the sensitive space there. Shiro’s cock twitches in his hand. “Just enjoy.”

Shiro moans, and his eyes slide shut. A bubble of something triumphant bursts in Keith’s belly. He can’t believe that he might be good at this, just right for Shiro. It's the best kind of gift that Shiro trusts him enough to do this, that Shiro wants this.

Keith swallows hard and refocuses on his task. Without jostling too much, Keith reaches back with his oiled fingers and finds his own hole.

He’s well practiced fingering himself, and he’s so aroused he won’t need much. Mostly he just pushes the oil in, gets himself lubricated enough. Shiro’s thick, and he wants the slide to be smooth, wants it to be the best.

When he can’t stand it anymore Keith pulls out his fingers and takes his own hand off Shiro. Quickly he gets some more oil and strokes Shiro. The change once again draws Shiro’s attention.

“Are you—?” He asks as Keith scoots up to position himself better.

“Yeah,” Keith looks down at him, sweaty and red all the way down to his chest. “Is this okay? Can I ride you?” Keith’s own face is so hot, but he pushes it aside. He’s so turned on and he wants this so much, he just needs Shiro to say—

“Yes!” Shiro’s eyes are blown out, and his chest heaves on a breath. “Fucking hell, yes. _Yeah_.”

Keith grins wildly and takes Shiro’s cock in hand. He moves it to his entrance, and watches Shiro’s face as he begins to sit on it.

The first push is a lot. A lot, a lot. Shiro is thick and even as the oil helps, Keith _feels it. _It’s a press of pain that’s almost sweet because it’s _Shiro_. It’s Shiro who’s beneath him tearing madly at the sheets and trying so, so, hard to be still.

“Keith, fuck, fuck, don’t—if you need—be careful—I—” Shiro’s face scrunches up and he takes several gasping breaths. “Fucking _tight_.”

It’s this more than anything else that gets Keith. Shiro’s huge, but it’s worth every moment to see him like this. To see him losing himself because of Keith. It twists in Keith’s head and the pain slips right into something deeper, something that lets him keep moving down on Shiro’s cock. He wants it, wants it all.

And then, after an age, he’s seated on Shiro’s lap.

They’re both sweating, panting. Keith feels a near imperceptible shake in his body, but he can’t figure out where it’s coming from. Everything just feels so intense.

Shiro’s hands wrap at his hips and then slide up and pull Keith down. The kisses he begins to pepper Keith in are desperate and messy and delicious. “Keith,” He breathes against his mouth. “You’re so amazing. A fucking marvel. I can’t— no one has— fuck you’re so tight. Good. Baby. Baby, please.”

If Shiro had just shoved his hands into Keith’s still beating heart he’d be less ravaged than he is by the man’s words. Keith kisses him hard, biting, trying to hold all his soft feelings in. This is about Shiro, he can’t fall apart, not now.

He snatches up Shiro’s hands and shoves them back up, presses them down into the bed as he plunges his tongue one last time into the man’s mouth. When he pulls away Shiro looks wrecked.

“Stay,” Keith says.

Then he pulls away and tries to clear his head. He feels too full and it’s amazing, but he wants to last. He wants to bring his plan to fruition, and for that he needs to not lose himself. At least not yet.

When he feels like he’s pieced enough of himself together, Keith puts his hands on Shiro’s chest, and starts to move.

It’s slow at first, more of a rocking than a fucking, but they both gasp anyway. It’s just so much. So good.

He watches Shiro as he moves, feeling the muscles of Shiro's stomach tense beneath his hands as Shiro struggles to hold on. It's intoxicating, and before long Keith’s moving faster, eyes watching every little response from Shiro with possessive greed. He pushes himself up only to drop back down, moving in a way that gets Shiro deep, that gets them into a fluid rhythm.

It’s not going to last, Keith knows that even as he begins to speed up. Keith hasn’t touched his own cock, but every stroke of Shiro inside him is devastating. It’s too much but just right and it’s tearing them both apart.

“Baby, fuck, fuck,” Shiro groans as Keith rides him. His mouth is agape, panting and moaning every time Keith drops back down. It’s sinfully hot, erotic in a way that sex hasn’t been before. Keith can barely stand it. Shiro's so fucking hot like this, laid out and being made to enjoy it. 

“Look at me,” Keith says suddenly. He’s moving fast now, fucking himself on Shiro’s cock and dangerously close to his own orgasm. He needs Shiro to come, he needs to see it.

Shiro opens eyes, and they fall immediately down to his own cock, to where they’re joined. It’s slick and messy with the oil, and sounds of Keith riding him are absolutely obscene. Keith can only imagine what it must look like to see his thick cock disappearing into Keith's hole. Shiro cries out, hips stuttering up and throwing Keith off for a second.

It burns in Keith, how out of control Shiro is, how ruined. It spins him higher and he can’t help the words that fall out then.

“Just want,” Keith pants, “to take care of you. Make you feel good.” He drops down and grinds a little deeper so their cries clash together. “Do I feel good— Shiro, am I good for you—?”

There’s some deep gravel sound then and Keith doesn’t even realize he’s closed his eyes, but he blinks them open at the heavy hand that claw onto his hips. He opens his mouth to say something, to protest, but Shiro snarls and pulls him down, fucks in savagely.

“Yes,” Shiro growls, holding him tight and fucking in as he comes undone. “So good, always so good, fuck baby, you take such care of me, me, I’m—!”

Keith wails at how Shiro pounds his prostate, as he digs pinpricks of pain into Keith’s hips. Keith’s practically bouncing on his lap as Shiro grunts and starts to come, moaning as he fucks himself deep in Keith’s hole.

It’s too good, he can’t breathe, and then Keith’s coming, so sudden and intense he nearly screams it. Shiro coaches him on, still spilling in him, telling Keith how good he is, how amazing, how he takes such good care of Shiro.

The pleasure consumes him, pulse after pulse of it, shooting across Shiro’s belly and the sheets as Shiro grinds out the last of it inside him. He’s a dizzy nothingness, flattened by the pleasure.

And then Shiro is guiding him down, pulling his cock out and tucking Keith against his chest. There’s a murmuring of sweetness in his ear. It's nice.

It’s a kiss to Keith’s hair a moment later, though, that breaks Keith’s chest open entirely.

He didn’t know he was going to cry, but the tears just spring up suddenly. The arms around him tighten.

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

“It is!” Keith sniffles, hiding his face in the crook of Shiro’s neck. He feels so ridiculous, he doesn’t know what’s happening. “I’m not sad!”

Shiro hums softly. “I know.”

“Then why am I—?” he sniffles and reaches up to smear away his tears.

“Because this was important to you, as it is to me. Because you wanted to take care of me, and you did. You did so good.”

At this Keith pushes up to look at Shiro. One of Shiro’s hands wipes away more tears.

“I did?”

Shiro smiles. His own eyes are watery. “Yeah. And you have been. I… don’t think I got it. What you meant when you said I should work less. I can see now what you’ve been doing. How important it was to you. I’m sorry I made it difficult.”

Keith scoffs and looks away, feeling shy. “You’re so stubborn.”

Shiro laughs. “Definitely. But I get it now. This. We’ve uh… really been idiots, haven’t we?”

“Maybe just a little too busy.”

Shiro nods like what Keith said was something infinitely wiser. “But thank you, for trying so hard. For making me feel better. For reminding me of what matters.”

Then he pulls Keith in, kissing him so softly, so heart-achingly tender.

“Yeah,” Keith says, dazed when they part. Shiro’s smile then is golden sunshine, and Keith wants to keep it forever.

“I love you,” Shiro says.

Keith does laugh then, joyous even as more tears drip down his cheeks. “I love you too,” he says, and then just because he can’t help himself, “Please work less.”

Shiro crushes him in a tight hug, his chest vibrating as he laughs. “I will, I will. I promise.”

Keith sighs happily, clutching Shiro back just as tight. He thinks, privately, that now the war really does feel won.

**Author's Note:**

> From a twitter thread that I couldn't stop thinking about. Shiro would totally be that workaholic, but it's a good thing he has Keith. 
> 
> Soft filth again, because that's just what sheith is. No matter how hard I try to do filth they always sneak in with their soft boys nonsense. 
> 
> Comments make my day!  
@an_aphorism on twitter


End file.
